


Collapse My Veins

by pails



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, M/M, Major and Minor Character Death, This Is Sad, but sad, like overall happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:01:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pails/pseuds/pails
Summary: Harry reminisces on a marriage pact he had with the greatest love of his life.





	Collapse My Veins

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is obama.tumblr.com

It’s a near perfect fall evening. The sky is painted pink, orange, blue, without a cloud littering the sky. The air sings as gusts of wind move soft, but quick. The grass moves with the flow, standing tall and proud, while a myriad of leaves dance their way to the ground, only to be picked back up and placed gingerly in a new location. The porch swing creaks with each pass under the beam it’s attached to, the pearl white paint chips underneath anxious fingernails desperately trying to focus on anything other than what tonight is: a near perfect fall evening. However, tonight is anything but perfect. Nowhere close.

Harry picks up the journal lying to his right, it’s been yelling at him for the past hour to do something, to stop wallowing and let it out. But he can’t. Four years of therapy, and he’s still having trouble with his emotions, partly to blame are the two years he spent in a miserable, drunken rage. He can’t process his emotions properly, and Sandra told him this would help work out the kinks. To write out one's emotions would solidify them, make them real to you and the world, and Harry didn’t think he was ready for that yet. Still, he opens the front page, clean from marks or crinkles, and grabs his pen in his trembling fingers. He looks at the bottle of Jack Daniels on the ground by his swaying feet, still mostly full, and he decides to listen. To the wind, the creaks, the birds calling out to one another, and to his journal. The one taunting him, growing louder and louder with each passing minute he does not write.

So he writes. He writes and writes and lets it out with hardly a break.

We met my first year of University, I was 18, you were 20, and it was a particularly boring day. Until you appeared. I remember distinctly, sitting at a round metal table north of the field where students gathered in groups to study. I was writing down notes for Introduction to Literature, I maybe got through half the first page before a book collided with the table top, and you sat - plopped more like - next to me. Not even a foot of space between us and you still insisted on leaning closer to me to introduce yourself.

You gave me your name with a smile, a glimmer in your eye that I didn’t know if it was from the sun, or mischief.

I didn’t say anything, I was too stunned by the suddenness by which this progressed that I couldn’t formulate words. (In truth, it was you. The first time I saw your eyes, your cheek bones, dear god your smile, I knew I would never be the same.)

Your study friend had ditched you, you said, and you had dubbed me a good replacement. Your smile crooked more to the right, and I’d never found teeth so cute before. You turned to your book, and flipped through several pages before landing on the one you wanted. I remember sweating, a little confused, but accepting that you had chosen me to spend time with, even for a little while. 

I remember I didn’t speak for quite a few minutes, I was still trying to wrap my head around you. I gave you my name, and you had giggled. Hearing your laugh quite literally made my day.

You still had barely looked at me, but warned me that you were a music major, that if I grew annoyed with your humming I could leave. Looking back, that does seem a bit unfair. You were the one to approach me. 

Instead, I only nodded, I did not want to leave your presence.

You didn’t give me your number that day, and I was too coy to ask for it. I never knew if you were going to return, I sat at the same table at the same time for the next week, every day growing more and more afraid I had dreamt you.

Four days later and there you were again, sitting at the same round metal table with your computer out and a very large binder sat on your lap, the top perched on the edge of the table. I was ten minutes later than usual, by that time I was convinced you were gone from my life and there wasn’t a need to hurry. But there you were, looking beautiful as ever and I had only seen the back of your head. I remember nearly tripping over my own feet in the rush to get to you.

You were focused on your computer screen when I sat down, and you briefly glanced at me when you spoke. You were impatient, you said, and you almost didn’t wait for me. I almost apologized, but when I saw your smile I knew you didn’t mean it. You were brazen, a loud personality to combat your soft voice. You told me I was cute, a good thing because otherwise you would have left, and that’s when I knew I was gone for you. Here I was, a meek little 18 year old who held his tongue and never spoke when it was unwarranted. Who rarely spoke even if it was.

I blushed and nodded and unwittingly chuckled. You looked at me then, you seemed surprised, by what I didn’t know. I smiled back at you, my face still hot and my hand yearning to reach for yours. I looked down at my notebook, and turned my body so I wasn’t facing you anymore, it hurt. I wanted to stare at you for an eternity, but work needed to get done.

We worked in tandem, one hour, then two had flown by. You moved from your binder, to your computer, to your notebook, then repeated, until you were satisfied with your paper. My hand had begun cramping from clutching my pencil for so long, but I only had two pages of notes left by the time you finished. And when you finished, you placed all items in your bag. I hadn’t noticed. You plucked the pencil out of my hand, a word half finished, and closed my notebook for me. I turned to face you, ready to fight to get my pencil back, but you shook your head. I could have the pencil back when I took a break, you said, until then, my notes were not getting finished. I sighed, I wanted to argue that my mom would have my head if I failed my test. I didn’t. I nodded, ready to take a five minute break so I could return to my work.

I packed up my things, you tucked my pencil into your back pocket and told me I could get it back after our break, or I could just take it if I really wanted it. I blushed and shook my head, I was not going to reach in your back pocket, especially not without collapsing from embarrassment.

We walked to a cafe only five minutes away, I had been wringing my hands the entire time as I tried to figure out where you and I stood. Were we friends? Did you really think I was cute? Did you even like boys?

You talked the entire way to the cafe. I’ll admit, I don’t remember much of what you said. My mind was too jumbled and you kept bumping your shoulder into mine. I did try to move to the right, maybe I was taking up too much space on the sidewalk. You only moved closer to me. When we got to the cafe, you slipped your arm into mine. I don’t remember anything else after that.

I do remember you giving me your number that day. You gave me a wink and a smile and left, I was left wondering what I had done to deserve such attention from an angel. I do remember going back to my dorm, setting my bag on the ground with my phone clutched to my chest. I had debated on whether or not to text you the entire fifteen walk home, and for another two hours by the time I actually got there. I distracted myself with homework, cleaning, more homework.

I didn’t text you that day.

Or the day after.

I didn’t text you the second day either, but Liam did. I had been talking to him - bugging him - about you since the day I met you, and he saw an opportunity to capitalize on the situation when I went to shower and left my phone on my bed. He’s my roommate, he sent, and I was too afraid to text you so he thought he’d do it for me. You invited him - me - to a performance by the third year music majors that Saturday. He accepted. I still appreciate that he didn’t say anything embarrassing on my part. I still didn’t appreciate him meddling in my love life. He told me, very indignantly, that I had shared enough of this quote unquote love life with him that he had the right. But I had a not-a-date with you on Saturday, so I didn’t argue with him.

You were amazing. Everyone was amazing, but you. You were exceptional. I was mesmerized by your voice, the way you placed your hand on your stomach as you belted, your smile when the audience gave you a standing ovation - rightly deserved. I sat in the back left, I still didn’t know if you meant it when you asked me to attend, despite us texting for most of the week. I had waited outside after the show. I knew you would come find me, and I didn’t want everyone to intrude on my moment with you.

You did find me. I had waited for seven minutes (and roughly twenty-three seconds) when you jumped on my back. I still don’t really know how I didn’t collapse, but I held your arms tight so you wouldn’t fall. We laughed, yours boisterous, sweet like honey. You slipped down, and I turned around to see you smiling so bright your nose scrunched up, and crinkles had formed around your eyes. I still don’t know how you looked more beautiful each time I saw you. I congratulated you on your amazing performance, and you smiled even wider. You knew I was in the audience, you said, so you pushed yourself to do better. For me. My face hurt at that point, from how hard I was smiling. I complimented you again, again, again. I never wanted to stop. You told of how hard you practiced, of Zayn who has been a ghost in your flat every time it was time for you to practice, of how hard you fought for your solo.

I was proud of you, I will never stop saying that. I was so immensely proud of you. I think I told you roughly seven times that night. And each time you’d laugh a little softer, look down at the ground with your face tinting pink. Once you even leaned against me to knock into my shoulder, but I think you backed out halfway through so you ended up resting your head next to mine.

I told you I should probably head home, it was 10:30 after all and I had to start my first day of work in the morning. I cannot express how much I hated the thought of leaving you. It was a pain thrumming through my chest, down to my toes and back up. If I hadn’t been looking closely, I would have missed the droop in your smile. But you quickly regained your bright smile, like everything was okay. Everything sort of slowed down when you put your hands on my shoulders, I looked down at one of your hands - I didn’t really wrap my head around what you were doing - as I was looking back at you, you just -

You kissed me. Soft and slow, your lips melted into mine. Perhaps it was the best kiss I’d ever had, but just as you were there, you vanished. I was left not knowing if you were ever there at all.

Our relationship - if you could call it that - went on like that. I saw you more after that night, you’d invite me out with your friends, to study, just about anywhere you were going, I went too. You’d hold my hand, put your arm around the back of my chair, you’d press yourself against me, and I was glad to allow it. I got to see your personality really shine. With the way you always tipped the baristas at every cafe you went to, the way you helped a young student when her books fell from her grip, with the love you poured into every conversation - whether it was with a friend or stranger. I fell even deeper in my infatuation for you. You were quite possibly the kindest, loveliest soul I had ever met, will ever meet. Where you were loud and boisterous, you were also soft and reserved, careful in the words you spoke. You were a shoulder to lean on in times of crisis, and I wanted to be that for you.

For almost a year, we were never officially together. Not for lack of want on either of our parts, but we both agreed to take it slow. Surely, this was something special, not to be rushed and tainted. We kissed sometimes, a lot actually, and we’d go on dates or go back to your room to quote unquote ‘study’. It was fine like that, we were happy with the way things were. You would be graduating in a few months, so I would see you less, but you assured me your feelings would not change. Surely mine wouldn’t.

It was May, about 3 weeks before you’d graduate, you called me at 10:27 pm on a Thursday night. Not totally unusual, I was used to you calling me at all hours of the night just because you wanted to talk, so this felt like any other.

But it wasn’t.

I could hardly understand you through your tears, your blubbering, but I eventually got you to breathe, to calm down enough to speak clearly. You were at the hospital. You were fine, you insisted, but your sisters, they were not. I remember the panic in your voice, how I had to physically force myself from running every stop light on my way to the hospital, to you. I stayed on the phone with you the entire thirty minute drive. I remember when I got there, turning another corner, going down another too long hallway, and suddenly seeing your small, shaking body pacing back and forth. You were surrounded by your family: Phoebe, Daisy, Ernest, Doris, and your mother. But not Charlotte or Felicite. They looked almost nothing like the pictures you’d shown me, this was nothing like the family Christmas photo framed in your dorm. It was much worse.

I was maybe ten feet from you when you turned, and I stopped moving when I saw how broken you looked. Your face was puffy and red, your eyes bloodshot, hair matted back from running your fingers through it. In an instant, you were wrapped in my arms, nearly screaming into my chest from the pain in your heart. It took a minute to process what you were saying, when I did, I cried too. Your sisters, Charlotte and Felicite, were hit by a drunk driver. Dead by the time authorities got to them. The other driver escaped with a broken leg. It was unfair, you yelled, it shouldn’t have been them, it should have been you.

I ran my hand up and down your back, squeezed you even tighter, kissed your head. It shouldn’t have been you, and it shouldn’t have been them either, no one should have been hurt. I kept quiet though, only offering comfort through my arms as you continued to wail.

I remember your mother, cradling the smaller twins to her chest with tears streaming down her face. The anguish in her cries, in the way she sheltered her children to her, trying to protect them from the pain around them.

I remember little Doris, hugging her mother as tight as her little arms would let her, and Ernest trying to wipe away Jay’s tears as they fell down her cheeks.

I remember Phoebe, the way she kicked and flailed, the way she screamed that she wouldn’t go on living if her big sisters couldn’t. It was perhaps the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever seen, experienced.

Not being able to take away your pain, their pain, that hurt more than anything I ever remember. All I wanted was to take it away, you never deserved this.

Two days later, and you were gone. You packed up your dorm and went back home to take care of your mother and sisters. You cut ties with everyone, even me. You stopped responding to my calls, my texts, every attempt I made to reach out to you, you blocked. So I stopped trying. You needed space, and I was willing to give you anything you needed. And at that moment, I wasn’t it.

It was hard after you left, I’m not going to lie. I missed you. I heard your laugh everywhere, I saw your smile in others, I felt your presence floating through the air on campus as though you’d been there the whole time. And that’s what helped keep me afloat.

I had no idea if I would see you again, or if you were gone from my life forever. Therefore I had to try to move on with my life. I hung out with your friends, went to cafe's, even to a comedy club once or twice. To no fault of their own, I still like your jokes better. Your dumb pick up lines that made my entire body flush red, your stupid knock-knock jokes, no one could make me laugh like you.

It was a long process, part of me trying to forget you, part of me holding on for dear life. It was scary, a year after you’d left and I was thinking about you less and less. I didn’t want to forget you, I didn’t want to forget the way you made me feel, how happy I was simply being in your presence. And now, I was lost. Trying to find myself in this world, trying to navigate the adult life without you.

Eventually I made peace. You had things you needed to do and I was not about to pull you away from your family, so I would cherish the memories I had with you and make new ones without you.

Graduation day was scary, it was long and tumultuous, I wanted to get it over with while simultaneously wishing to go back in time. I had no idea what I was going to do with my life, where I was going to go. I hadn’t found a job yet, Liam and Niall had graduated already and moved out on their own, where would I go?

It was good to see them at my graduation, to see them smiling proudly at me as I walked out of the stadium toward them. My mother was crying, of course she was. Friends and fellow graduates congratulated me, hugged me, we took pictures and laughed and promised to get together that weekend to celebrate.

It was a fun night all around, from what I remember. Everything was a blur, really. I remember talking with Liam about something or other, maybe how his work was faring. Niall had grabbed my arm abruptly, and I turned to follow his gaze behind me. There you were, standing in all your glory. You reeked of anxiety, a small, nervous smile on your face as you shifted from side to side.

I didn’t - I couldn’t - speak for what felt like hours. You were there, right in front of me. I recognized the striped shirt you were wearing as one you had bought online one friday night when we were getting plastered and ignoring our homework. It was too big on you now. Your cheek bones protruded slightly more than I remembered, your thighs were being hugged by skinny jeans, and I noticed a gap forming. If I had to guess, you weren’t taking care of yourself. With the whirlwind of events that happened two years ago, and you having to take care of your family, you had neglected yourself. It hurt to see someone so beautiful, someone so kind, to be so clearly in pain. I wanted to cry and scream for you. 

Eventually, Liam and Niall left, as did mum and Gemma, and we were left alone. I could hear and feel my heart beating too loud, too fast. I didn’t know what to say, what you would say, should I hug you? Would you allow it?

You took two steps towards me, you wrung your hands together and glanced down briefly.

You were sorry, you said. You didn’t want to cut me off, but it had to be done. You needed time to yourself, to your family. You wouldn’t have been able to handle trying to help them without the worry you were letting me down in the process. I nodded my head, believe me, I understood. You missed me, you went on, you missed me so much. You had thought about me everyday, had wanted to reach out to me whenever you had a minute to yourself. But, you said, you needed to focus on your family. Again, I nodded my head, I let the chatter around us fill the silence between us before I got up the courage to speak.

I loved you, I told you. It was the first time I’d ever told you. I knew you had an inclination, but I needed to say it. I loved you so much, I repeated, softer. I didn’t know what you were going through, I could only imagine the pain and guilt you’d been carrying for these past two years. But, if you let me, I could be there to help. I didn’t have a job yet, I’d be more than happy to help you with Jay and the twins, so you’d have more time for yourself. You deserved it. There were tears in your eyes when I reached for your hand, a tear escaped when I covered it with both of mine and held them to my chest. I loved you, I said for a third time, I’d do anything for you. Please let me help you.

You squeezed my hand softly, and wiped away your tears with the other hand. I could hear the waver in your voice, how you held back a flood of tears. I could feel your hand shake in mine. And I knew I wasn’t going to be ready for what you’d tell me.

You couldn’t ask me to do that, you sighed, you couldn’t ask for me to put my life on hold for you. This is just something you needed to deal with, just you. You just wanted to come see me graduate, to see me and how I was doing. To be honest, you said, you didn’t think you could handle the thought of an emotional connection. You didn’t think you ever would. You needed more time, time away from everything and everyone. And me, particularly me, you said. You were going to move to London with the girls and leave the past behind for now. You needed to learn what it meant to be alive in a world where your two sisters, your best friends, were gone. You removed your hand from mine, and breathed in deep as I let out a few tears of my own.

Again, I couldn’t speak. And eventually you gave me a small smile and turned around, ready to leave me again. Before you could, I grabbed your hand and stopped you from walking any further. I moved so I was standing in front of you, and I mentally cursed myself for not thinking this through all the way. But this was a now or never type of situation.

I was 22, I said, and you were 24. I didn’t expect you to move on any time soon, to make peace with what happened. But if I turned 30, and you turned 32, and you had learned to heal, and you hadn’t fallen in love with anyone else, we could try again. I’d give you a ring to show you how committed I truly was to you. I’d show you how I’d love you through anything, including this.

I really couldn’t believe I had said that. In my heart, I knew it was what I wanted, I also knew it was selfish to set a time limit on your healing. I just needed you to know that I loved you, truly, and I always would.

You sighed, and nodded. You said that it was a deal, but how did I know I wouldn’t fall for anyone else in the meantime?

I didn’t tell you this, but I never could have fallen for someone else. In my eyes, you were perfect. In the mere two years you were gone, I hadn’t even thought of dating anyone else. I always compared everyone to you, because you were it for me. What I did tell you though, is that I just knew. And that when you were ready, you could call or text me anytime you wanted.

You smiled again, and this time I could tell it was real. Albeit sad, it was real.

I watched as you disappeared into the thinning crowd to the parking lot, to go back home and finish packing for your move. I went home that night and packed too. I needed to get away, away from everything that reminded me of you.

That was how we parted; you, going off to London with your family; me, going to New York to get as far away from you as I could.

Things were… okay in New York. One might even say they were great. I snagged an internship at a small magazine company, moved up in the ranks until I could write for them and actually get paid for my time. I still thought about you, I thought about you a lot, actually. But I managed to compartmentalize my thoughts. I know you’d want me to be successful, no matter what we were, so that’s what I strived to do. I strived to be someone you’d be proud of.

My days went on as such; wake up, go to work, come home, sleep. Was it repetitive? Yes. But it worked for me. Sometimes I would mix things up and go to the park, maybe go to a shelter and visit the cats they had. It was mundane, but that’s what I needed right now.

I came home late from work one night to my small studio apartment, tired and drained from a day full of researching. I grabbed my mail from the boxes downstairs, I hadn’t even looked at the handful of letters I had by the time I got to my apartment on the fifth floor. I tossed the letters on my table, grabbed a Tupperware full of leftover Chinese food, grabbed a bottle of wine, and situated myself on the floor. A year of working full time and I still couldn’t afford a couch.

I decided tonight would be special, I would treat myself to some Romantic Comedies, maybe get wine drunk, then go lie on my bed and probably have the same dream I’ve had for the past week, one wherein I have a cat of my own and I’ve named him Dusty.

I remember I kept looking back at the pile of mail on my table, it looked… too big to just be bills and spam. I finished my second glass of wine by the time I finished my food, and decided it would be a good time to shuffle through everything.

You’ll never know the heart attack I experienced when I saw your name on one of the letters. You… you had written me a letter. You had written me a letter! I tore through it, I almost tore the actual letter I was so excited. It still lives in my nightstand, it occupies my mind on lonely nights.

My Dearest Harry,

It has been two long years since we’ve last seen each other. In a way, I’m not sorry about that. I needed time to figure out who I am, how to live and be happy without feeling guilty that Lottie and Fizzy can’t. It’s been hard, I won’t lie. It’s been so hard not being able to hug them, not being able to see them smile and hear their laugh. I miss them more than anything. But I also miss you. I miss your mop you call hair, I miss your smile, how you’d scrunch up your nose whenever you were trying not to. I miss your large hands, how they’d envelope my own, you’d squeeze me every once in a while and I’d laugh. Everything was great. It makes me sad, because I know we could never go back to the way things were. But maybe that’s a good thing. I’ve grown a lot, matured, I know what I want in life and that life is too short to waste it on being unhappy. And I know that I want you. I still don’t think I’m ready for a relationship at this point, but maybe we could write to each other, tell each other about our lives. I want to know what you have been up to these past three years. If you’re open to talking with me, my address is on the envelope. If not, if you’ve moved on - well I won’t blame you. I can’t expect you to wait for me forever.

I hope you’re having a great day, and I look forward to hearing from you.

Your Louis.

I wrote back. Of course I wrote back. You were open to talking to me again and I couldn’t express how happy I was.

My letter was a little longer than yours, granted I have a tendency to ramble on and I was too excited to shorten my thoughts. I probably wrote three pages, before I cut myself off.

We continued communicating like that. Of course, we still had our numbers in each other’s phones, but this felt more intimate, it was exciting coming home everyday wondering if your letter would arrive today.

We mailed each other books too, books we thought the other might like. Sometimes you’d mail a picture of you and the girls along with your letter. And I'd put it on my fridge so I could see your face everyday.

I told you about how I adopted an abandoned cat, of course I named him Dusty. I told you of his antics and include pictures of him being dramatic (he always had a flare of the theatrics).

You told me of how you went back to school to finish the remainder of your courses. How your mum was faring better, as good as she can be. Phoebe and Daisy had both snagged themselves a boyfriend. And you, you were doing better. You had been going to therapy and learned to cope with your loss, you learned you needed to live your life to the fullest, and that Lottie and Fizzy, while not physically with you, were with you spiritually. You did everything for them. 

We communicated for two years via mail. Until one day, you called me. You were moving to California, you said, maybe do some photography. You wanted to explore more, so San Diego was where you would build your new home.

You asked if I wanted to meet with you, to see if the spark was still there. There was no thinking this through, of course I would meet with you. Just hearing your voice, it made me want to cry. I hadn’t realized how much I missed you. 

I put in a two week notice with my job, talked to the leasing staff of the apartments I lived in, and in two weeks, I was boarding a one-way flight to San Diego.

The first three days of being on the West Coast was definitely an adjustment period. I had unpacked boxes, set up Dusty’s cat towers, tried to keep my mind occupied until Friday, when I would see you.

When the day came, it was very much apparent that our spark was still there. We met in a coffee shop, sat on opposite sides of the table birch clutching our drinks. There was a good minute of silence before either of us talked. 

You broke the silence first, talked about how you’d been feeling better, how you’d felt confident your mum and sisters would be okay while you were out on your own. 

You then placed your hand on top of mine, and my heart melted. It was like everything from the past six years had drifted off, floated into the sky. 

You were ready to try dating again. With me, you clarified, only me. But only if I hadn’t found someone else. 

I hadn’t, I assured you. I hadn’t fallen in love with anyone else. You were it for me. It was scary saying it out loud, but this time I was sure you’d reciprocate my love.

And this time, you did. You wanted to take it slow, you were a different person than you were six years ago, so you needed to find out what you were comfortable with. 

We moved at your pace. It was a month and three dates later before you asked to officially be my boyfriend. Another month before I brought you to my house to meet Dusty.

Months flew by, then a year. And then, you were turning 32 in less than three weeks. I had brought up our pact to you one night, half-jokingly. You told me you were still very much serious about being with me forever. And that when I popped the question, you would say yes.

It was exhilarating, knowing you loved me just as fiercely as I loved you.

I would never tell you this, but I had bought your ring the day we first met for coffee. It sat in the back of my closet, waiting for the perfect time to present itself.

I proposed to you three nights before your 32nd birthday. You laughed, loud and carefree, before you shook your head. It wasn’t fair, you said, I still had to wait two more months until I turned 30. So you turned me down, said I’d have to have more patience. 

So I waited. I’ve waited six years to see you again, another two months wouldn’t make a different.

But it did.

January 3rd, you didn’t come home from the store. I waited an hour, then two, but you still hadn’t come home. I called maybe seventeen times, still, I had gotten no answer. I paced through the living room, sat on the couch and bounced my leg up and down, practiced meditation. 

Something was wrong. 

Eventually, I resorted to going to the store myself. Maybe you had gotten hung up on something, I just needed to know you were okay. Maybe five minutes into driving, I noticed a wreck on the side of the road, a car had been totaled, smashed, while another car was lying in a ditch.

I almost didn’t look a second time. But traffic was slow and something inside me, the same thing that told me to check my mail, told me to look back at the wreck.

Your car. It was your car. Your license plate was barely recognizable, but it was yours. Immediately I pulled off to the side, parked my car and jumped out.

I remember running towards your car, police officers holding me back. I don’t remember screaming, but police reports would later say otherwise.

The driver, the one whose car is in the ditch, had been texting and driving and swerved into oncoming traffic. She had hit you head on before she rolled into the ditch. Her airbag deployed, she was fine.

You… were not. 

You were unconscious by the time paramedics got to the scene, you had lost a lot of blood, too much blood. You were being transported to the hospital, they said, if I wanted to see you I could go there. 

I waited seven hours for you to get out of surgery. I had called Jay to let her know what was going on, and she was going to fly out as soon as she could.

For the time being, you would be stuck with me. They moved you to ICU, you were hooked up to cords and machines, too many things just to keep you alive.

The doctors didn’t give a good prognosis, you were in a coma, had severe brain damage, and you lost a lot of blood.

I stood by your bedside for three days, holding your hand. I would kiss them occasionally, talk to you about what was going on in the world. I’d brush your hair for you. You were so beautiful, even then. You had bandages around your head, stitches covering your right cheek, a busted lip. And still, id found you just as beautiful as ever. 

Three days passed, Jay had finally managed to fly in, she and the girls all piled in the waiting room and switched out once in a while so they could talk to you. 

10:47 AM, January 6th. You were strong. So strong. But, I guess, you were too tired to fight anymore. Your body gave out, then your brain, then your heart. Doctors had pushed everyone out of your room, demanded we stay in the waiting area so they could do their job. 

Eventually, they came out. All frowns and anxiety. You told us he was gone, pronounced dead. They had done everything they could, but your body couldn’t handle it anymore

Screaming. So. Much. Screaming. I couldn’t handle losing you, but Jay? The twins? It was as if they had died too.

Now I really don’t remember much of what happened. I didn’t speak to Jay that much, nor to either of the twins. I ran out to my car and screamed into the open air. I understand what you meant when you said you wished it had been you instead of your sisters that got hurt. I would give anything to be the one in that hospital bed instead of you. 

I had planned your funeral. Jay was too heartbroken, she had detached herself from reality. So I took some of the weight off her shoulders and did it myself. It was a painful experience. We didn’t have enough money to fly you back to England to be buried there, so we found a nice plot in Napa Valley, buried you in a cemetery where trees bloomed nearly all year round.

I didn’t talk to Jay or the twins at your funeral, in fact, I haven’t spoken to them since the day you died. I don’t have the heart to see how they’re doing, I wouldn’t be able to handle it.

I’m crying now, I’m itching to reach for my bottle of Jack Daniels, so I’ll hurry this up. 

That was four years ago tomorrow. And I still feel lost

But I think I finally understand how you felt. Losing someone you love and feeling nothing, absolutely nothing. You’re numb to the world and to yourself. I’ve been going to therapy for two years now, I’ve been trying to stay away from alcohol. I will admit, the first two years after you passed, they weren’t great. I’d drink all day, go to the gym to work out any anger or resentment, then come home and drink some more. 

Sandra actually reached out to me. I had gone to a meeting, filled with others who had lost someone they loved, and she was there, she offered to help me through my grief. She’s sweet, she’ll tell me when I’m doing something wrong, she’ll give me tips on how to get control of my emotions.

And I think maybe this is how you felt. It’s a long process, sometimes you think you’ll never get better. But then there are days when the sun shines bright, Dusty cuddles into my side more, I watch musicals to remind myself of you, and things feel… better.

This is our story. It’s a shitty story and I hate it, but I will cherish every single moment I’ve had with you. I love you, Louis. 

Your Dearest Harry. 

Harry closes the journal ever so slowly. He puts down his pen on the porch swing and cradles the journal to his chest as a few tears flow down his cheek. He doesn’t stop them, just lets himself revel in his emotions as the breeze picks back up and ruffles his hair.

He smiles, it’s just how you used to ruffle his hair. And he thinks Sandra was right, being able to express what happened has lifted an enormous weight off his chest he didn’t know he was carrying. 

And he thinks that maybe he’ll be okay.


End file.
